


From the Northern Mountains

by Iggy_Popsicle



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: >:((, F/M, Fluff, Original Story - Freeform, Slow Burn, Tension, Wholesome, aquila is baby, aquila is soft and jaskier would like to kiss that, bards bards bards bards bards, fighting eventually, geralt and vriska fight a lot oops, im so bad at tags, just because characters share names doesn't mean theyre the same, not homestuck, vriska has a lot of trauma pls help her, vriska is very much so not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23053774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iggy_Popsicle/pseuds/Iggy_Popsicle
Summary: Vriska travels, looking for monsters to kill and coin to gain. What will happen when she stumbles upon a soul similar to her own? Things change when the woman starts following along with the Witcher and his bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31





	1. A Hot Bath

The journey was long. The wind was freezing. And the only thing Geralt wanted was to eat, drink, maybe find a hookup, and get a good night’s rest. He would find a job in the morning but for now, the last thing he wanted to do was deal with conflict. He sent Roach to be housed in a stable while he walked over to the local inn.  
It seemed nice enough. He had stayed in better. And worse. So long as they had good ale and could provide a bath, he would be fine. As he pushed the door open, the coppery scent of blood assaulted his senses. The doorbell chimed and he stepped in, looking around for the source of the smell.

  
Droplets of red trailed on the floor leading to a woman holding burlap sack that was dripping with the source. She clutched it with white knuckles as she shouted towards the innkeep.

  
“You grossly underestimate me. I’ve killed men for less. Give me my coin.” She hissed.

  
“I told you, I don’t have it! We didn’t expect you to come back. We sent you on suicide mission!” The innkeep confessed.

  
Geralt looked the woman up and down. There was something about her that was vaguely familiar but so much was different he could hardly place it. Her pale complexion and stark blue eye color seemed like a combination he would certainly remember on a woman but he couldn’t place a woman with those features matching with the rest. Her black hair hung in front of her face, almost concealing the eye patch that covered her right eye. She was tall, lean, and coated in mess. Blood, dirt, slime and gods know what else gripped onto her clothes and armor. Weapons were slung around her body, knives strapped to her legs and hip, a sword on her back and another on her hip. Various small weapons elsewhere proved her being armed to the teeth with steel. Most were covered in blood.

  
“Fucking phenominal. You wouldn’t eat and not pay the chef. You wouldn’t fuck a whore and not pay her for her time. But you would send a woman to her death and not pay her for the monster she’s slain.” She tossed the bag up and caught it by it’s bloodied bottom. She turned it upside down, spilling the messied carcass of a creature over the wooden bartop. The bag dropped atop the mess. A bloodied hand slammed against the bar, causing a few close by patrons to jump back. “I expect my coin in my room by morning.” She walked away, her chest tight with anger. A red hand print stained the wood in her wake.

  
This hadn’t been the first time. There was no respect for women within the mercenary industry. Witchers do the same job as she and always get paid, hell, even praised at times, but a woman? No. Too frail to take the good jobs and to stupid to come back from the easiest of tasks. All Vriska wanted was some coin.

  
“I take it that he didn’t take the delivery very well?” Aquila asked softly. She sat by a warm tub of water, alreadying having prepared it for Vriska. Her hand dipped daintily into the scented bath. Aquila was a young girl of about 24. She worked by Vriska, helping her with a lot of the menial things that she couldn’t be bothered with. Mostly, she stayed out of her way. She kept her clothes clean, her bed made, and her reputation high. Most of all, she adored her.

  
“He refused to pay me. If we weren’t already in such deep water I would have bashed his fucking head in.” Vriska gave a loud groan that turned into a shout, slamming her fist against the wall. “I do my fucking job! How fucking hard is it to get some coin? Damn it!” She gave a very heavy sigh. “We’re running low on supplies… at this rate I’ll have to steal us some food.”

  
“Allow me to speak with him. You rest. I’ve prepared a bath for you.” Aquila spoke softly. She stood from her spot and gently rubbed Vriska’s shoulder. “I’ll give you some privacy to calm down.”

  
“You’re a good friend, Aquila.” Vriska rested her hand atop the girl’s before she left. As the door closed, Vriska eyed the bath, wanting to clean herself of the blood and other fluids caked to her skin. She stripped, set the paper screen between the bath and the rest of the room, and stepped into the bath, sinking into the warm, lilac scented water, closing her eyes.

It took a moment before hushed whispers and, eventually, normal conservation flowed back into the room. The standing impression of the woman’s outburst was felt in the air by the patrons and staff alike. Geralt cleared his throat and approached a very shaken innkeeper. “Do you have any vacancies?” he asked, his voice flat and even.

  
The innkeeper’s hands shook as he started to clean the mess left behind. He struggled to lift the creature’s carcass. Geralt gripped it and tossed it back into the sack, ignoring the blood that now gripped his hands. The innkeeper blinked up at the man.

  
“You’re a Witcher, right? Look, if you go tell that girl that she’s not welcome and that she needs to leave before night’s end, you can have her room and any accommodations free of charge if you get her to leave.” The innkeeper’s voice shook as he spoke, from anger or fright, no one could tell.

  
Geralt thought it over. She was fuming, that much was clear. And she obviously needed the coin, but so did he. A room and free food while he did a job in the area was also very tempting. The moral struggle gripped him. She seemed to be in the right. It wouldn’t hurt to accept the innkeeper’s task and just talk with the girl. He nodded, “I will… talk to her.” Geralt chose his words carefully. He was investigating the situation. He wasn’t, for certain, going to take her room, although it was a consideration.

  
“Please. Whatever coin you need, I’ll give it to you. Everything I have, please, just get rid of her. She brings nothing but trouble wherever she goes.” the innkeeper pleaded.

  
“Some could say the same about me,” Geralt quipped back.

  
“Here is the spare key. Please, just handle it!” The innkeeper slid him the key.

  
Geralt picked it up, read the number marked on it, and started towards the door marked the same. His footsteps were heavy and he could feel the stares of patrons in the room on his back as he turned away from them. Whispers seemed to break out about the Witcher, the Butcher, or whatever nonsense was floating around about him. He blocked it out and knocked on the door to the room.

  
“Come in!” A voice behind the door spoke. It was surprisingly calm.

  
Geralt pushed the door open, surprised to see that there wasn’t anyone in the room.

“That was fast. I take it he’s still being difficult?” The voice spoke.

  
“Were you… expecting someone?” Geralt cleared his throat. He noticed movement behind the paper screen. Steam rose.

  
“My friend. Aquila. But I was expecting you as well, Witcher. Just, not so soon.” Vriska shifted in the water, reaching for a rag to scrub the grime from her form.  
He slowly approached the divider, wondering more about this woman. How could she have been expecting him? There was no way she got even more than a glimpse of him when he stepped in. “Expecting me?”

  
“You know… word spreads fast. I just headed out of town getting one last job in and… well you saw how that’s going.” Her eyes narrowed, her hand gripping the side of the bathtub tightly.

  
“How is it going? The innkeeper sent me to kick you out.” Geralt sat on the bed closest to the bath, listening as the sloshing of water marked movement and the enhanced, overwhelming scent of lilac and vanilla washed over the room. He winced at the scent.

  
She dunked her head under the water, saturating her hair before spreading soap in it and beginning to clean out the dirt in her tresses. “Did the job. Brought back the body. Yet my purse is not a cent heavier. Does that seem right to you? Mercenary work is so much… work. If I don’t get some coin soon, I’ll end up having to go back to whoring. Or stealing.” She sighed.

  
The room went silent. Vriska spent the time to finish up and get out of the bath. She wrapped a towel around her body and made sure to cover her right eye with her hair. She stepped out from behind the screen, picking through her things for at least a night dress for the moment. She started to change into the dress. There was a deal of difficulty. She was exhausted from the battle, bruised and sliced, covered in shallow wounds.

  
Geralt looked away as she did, not moving much but turning his gaze on the ground of courtesy. “The innkeep was scared shitless.”

  
“Not my fault if he’s a coward.” She shrugged and sat on the second bed facing him. A leather eyepatch crossed over her face, covering her right eye. Damp hair was pushed back, kept away from her face.

  
“He seems rightfully frightened.” Geralt paused, “Most women would be outraged at your current situation with a man. Let alone a Witcher.” He wondered if there were ulterior motives. It wouldn’t be the first time but he would have expected something by now if she were going to try something. Grown men turned tail and ran from him, yet she hadn’t even batted an eye.

  
“At a different point in my life, I would be. But, if you wanted to do something you would have by now, you would have done it and there’s not much I could do about it.” She shrugs, wincing as she did.

  
Geralt noticed the slight hitch in her movement, even if he couldn’t sense the blood in the air from under the heavy soap smell. “You’re injured. Do you need a doctor?”

  
“I’ll be fine. Sleep it off. Live to fight another day.” Her eyes fell. She broke eye contact in favor of staring to the floor. The motion made her tired. It made her mind and her body long for rest.

“Is that all you do? Live to fight another day?” he repeated. He moved to sit on the bed next to her. “What is ailing you?” he inquired.

  
“I’m fine.” Vriska shook her head, hair falling in front of her face. “And yes. I do. Fight a monster, kill or be killed, wait for the next payday, and repeat. It’s all the same one way or another.” She stared at her hands. Busted knuckles, jagged nails, and shaky hands stared back.

  
“That is no way to live.”

  
“Is that not how you live?”

  
“It is still no way to live.”

  
“Squalor and poverty, stealing your next meal, wearing thread bare and tattered clothes in the ice of winter and the sleet of the mountains… that is no way to live. And if I have to fight everyday of my life to never be cold again, then I will make sure my blade is sharp.” Vriska looked up, meeting Geralt’s eyes. “Why are you here, Witcher?”

  
“The innkeep told me to ask you to leave, though I think you deserve this room more than I.” he said. He stood, “I will go for the nearest inn.” He took a few paces before something caught his hand.

  
Vriska grabbed his wrist. He spun around instinctively. “What is your name?” Her eye was soft and kind, wanting to help towards his sympathetic ear, this wandering soul not so different from her own.

  
“Geralt of Rivia. And you?”

  
“Vriska Gennadievna. The nearest inn isn’t for several miles and it’s the dead of night. There are two beds. Stay with us.” Vriska loosened her grip on his wrist.

  
“Your friend…”

  
“She won’t mind.”

  
“That is very kind of you but I couldn’t intrude.”

  
“Isn’t not intruding. It’s hospitality.”

  
“That is,” he paused, “very kind of you.” He set his bag down and pulled off his sheath.

  
“There are… good omens about you, Geralt of Rivia.” Vriska offered a small smile.

  
“That’s a new one.” He cracked a smile and continued to pull off some of his more weighty equipment. “I will try to see to it that you recieve your pay, Vriska Gennadievna.”

  
It fell quiet again as the two took a moment, eyes searching one another, trying to figure the other out.

  
The door opened. “He won’t budge, Lady Vrisk-a…” Aquila pushed the door open only for her words to drift off in shock. “That’s th-the White Wolf.” Aquila’s eyes were wide and her mouth was open in shock and excitement, her lips twisting into a smile.

  
“Close your mouth dear, you’ll catch flies. This is Aquila. She’s my dearest friend. And a practicing bard. She’s… a fan. At least of Jaskier’s ballads.” Vriska gave a plastered and almost apologetic smile.

  
Geralt paused to take in the moment. “It is certainly… a change of pace.”

  
“Geralt will be staying with us due to extenuating circumstances.” Vriska explained.

  
Aquila nodded, slowly.

  
Vriska could tell she had a hundred questions. “Be polite.” She added. Vriska stood, wincing, stumbling, and catching herself on the bedframe.

The glimmer in Aquila’s eye was quickly extinguished in light of her friend’s plight. “Are you alright? Were you injured?”

  
“What am I not?” Vriska laughed, waving her off.

  
“You’re bleeding.” Geralt pointed out.

  
Indeed, a spread of red stained the pale blue gown across Vriska’s side. Vriska’s eyes fluttered, her head spinning momentarily. She sat back down on the bed, shifting in her dress. “Aquila… the kit.” She spoke. “Pardon my immodesty. I usually save this kind of thing for a second date or paying customers.” She joked. Vriska pulled the front lacing from the dress and let the top fall into her lap. A thin brazier covered her chest but her stomach, smeared with red and scattered with scars, was exposed.

“There is no modesty in medicine.” Geralt pulled out a salve from his own pack to extend to the woman.

  
Aquila pulled out many jars and a small zip box. Vriska examined the injury on her side, assessing the severity of it. She deemed it not worthy of stitches. “I appreciate…” her words trailed as she pulled a salve of her own and some clean rags to wrap herself in. Her brain was focused on her task and staying awake. An exhaustion washed over her. She moved slowly, carefully applying the salve and, sloppily, beginning to wrap herself in the rags.

  
“Allow me.” Aquila stepped in, taking the white, stained, cloth and unwrapping it from Vriska’s body. Vriska’s head dipped onto the girl’s shoulder as she began to care for her.

  
Geralt spoke softly, “Is she often this… neglectful?” The lack of concern for her injuries and the speed at which she seemed to be overcome by sleep was a tad concerning and dare he say even frightening.

  
“I’m afraid so.” Aquila whispered back. She finished and was satisfied with her work before re-tying up Vriska’s dress and laying her in the bed. “Just blow out the candle when you’re ready to retire.” She spoke softly. Aquila covered Vriska with the blankets and began to tend to the room and the state of it. She would have the innkeep clean the bath in the morning. She collected the clothes and stray weapons left around and began to carefully replace them in their rightful places. It didn’t take long before the room was in order and Aquila climbed into bed next to Vriska.

  
“Goodnight, Witcher. All will be well in the morn.” She turned over and went to sleep.


	2. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vriska wakes up in the middle of the night and she and Geralt have a long talk 
> 
> a/n: Sorry, it's a little short but I'm very excited about the next chapter in the story !

The world was on fire. Her limbs ached with use. She had been running for so long. Never in her life had she run this far or this hard. Her family… all of them, they were gone. The kingdom was falling. It certainly wasn’t the first and it wouldn’t be the last. Her brother was surely dead as well. The royal palace was the first to fall before the nobles were struck. 

All she could do now was run. Run from the flames, from the blood that stained her hand and the knife in it. 

A man stepped out from the alleyway. He chuckled, looking down at the girl. “Look what we have here.” he slowly advanced. 

The girl let out a small squeak as she felt a hand grip her. Instantly, the knife found a home in the man’s stomach. She never knew if he was a villager or an invader. She pulled the knife back and drove it forward again, pushing the man onto his back and running again, sickened with the feeling of fresh blood coating her small hands. 

Vriska woke with a start, cold sweat beading over her brow. She panted, throwing back the covers and standing from the bed. Her hand brushed her side, the bindings tight and the blood still staining her gown.

Another one soiled. Not that she would toss it out. Not enough money to go around throwing out bloodied clothes. She would clean it best she could or turn it into something useful. 

The dress was the least of her concerns though. Her heart was racing as the nightmare played over in her head. She felt around in the darkness for her cloak. She had discarded it over the chair. When she felt, there was nothing there. 

Walking to her pack, Vriska found the plush thing and wrapped it around her shoulders, pinning it in the front. She slipped a small knife into a belt around her thigh and slipped out of the room. 

The cold air hit her lungs and Vriska gasped. She had barely remembered walking about the main dining room. She pulled her hood up and walked around the town.   
She remembered it so clearly. Everything aflame and the snow stained with blood. Nothing could have prepared her for that night of slaughter. The faces of the people she loved played over and over in her head. It had been so cold. Like tonight. 

Despite the cloak wrapped around her, Vriska shivered as she passed the closed down market stands. A few apples were left at the bottom of the barrel she passed. She reached down and grabbed them. They were in fine condition. She continued on her way, clutching the fruits. 

She turned to the blank sky, looking for a star and finding only clouds. It was a dark, deep blue and gave her the same sort of feeling she got when she looked off the side of a boat. Vast emptiness. She couldn’t help but smile. The sky was beautiful, the moon bright, even if the cloud attempted to shroud her beauty.   
A tear trekked down Vriska’s face. She wiped it away and turned the corner. She continued on her walk. She wasn’t sure how long she was out. It couldn’t have been for more than an hour or so. 

It wasn’t long before she turned back to the Inn. She walked in, ignoring the barkeep as he berated her with questions. 

She pushed the door back into her room. Silently, she pulled off her cloak and set the knife back in her bag. The apples were placed on the chair by the door. Vriska made sure to double check the lock on the door before walking back to the bed, sitting on the side of it. She heaved a heavy sigh. 

“Awful late for a walk.” A gruff voice spoke softly into the night. 

“Keep quiet. Don’t wake her.” Vriska said softly, turning to look behind her. Aquila slumbered peacefully, her arms clutching a spare pillow close to her chest. “She does more for me than she should. She deserves the rest.” 

“You were injured. You need rest as well.” Gerald sat in his bed, the blankets falling into his lap. 

“I would if I could, Witcher.” She said. 

“Night terrors?” 

“You get them too?” 

“Can you do what we do and not be plagued?” 

“If only the dreams were of slaying monsters.” Vriska couldn’t stop the low chuckle that slipped her lips. “I guess in a way, they are.” 

The room went quiet again. 

Vriska broke it, “What are you doing in town, Geralt? If I may call you that.” 

“I prefer it to Witcher or any other names you may have for me.” 

“I think you deserve more respect than you get. I don’t know… maybe I’m jealous you get any at all.” Vriska shifted into the bed, leaning her back against the headboard. “But still, you deserve more. I don’t think those stories… you should tell your own.” 

“What about you?” he said, looking towards her in the darkness. 

“What about me?” 

“Your story.” 

“That’s a rather long one…” 

“We aren’t exactly going anywhere.” 

“Maybe another time. All that’s important now is helping people, killing monsters, and making sure that one is safe.” She nodded towards Aquila. Vriska tenderly brushed the blonde hair from Aquila’s face. The girl shifted in her sleep, turning over and wrapping an arm around Vriska’s lap. Vriska gently petted down her hair. 

“You two are very close.” Geralt noted. 

“She looks up to me. I wish she didn’t. In her eyes, I’m some idol but the truth is…” Vriska sighed, “I’m sure you know how fabulous the life is.” 

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t someone to look up to. You’re strong,” he said. 

“I don’t want to be seen as infallible when I’ve killed people.” 

“Justice is nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“Says the Butcher of Blaviken. You can’t tell me you haven’t done things you’re ashamed of. Even if they started it, even if you were defending yourself, you can’t tell me you don’t regret it just because it was right.” Vriska sighed again as the room fell quiet. “I know you aren’t a murderer and I didn’t mean it as an insult or a low blow.” 

“At least you can open your eyes enough to see there’s another side to the story.” Geralt commented. 

After a moment, Vriska spoke up again, “If you go down to the apothecary in the village he has a job. It’s not hard, just some creatures he needs for his work. It’ll pay good. It’s yours.” 

“Why don’t you come with me?” Geralt offered. The woman had offered her enough kindness to last them a lifetime, he couldn’t steal a job out from under her. He needed the money but the least he could do was split it. 

“Nah, I’ll just slow you down. Take it.” She said. After a yawn, Vriska shifted in bed, laying down. 

“Thank you. You’ve been more than kind to me.” 

“Have to pay it forward somehow. Goodnight, Geralt.” 

“Goodnight, Vriska.”


End file.
